


The Love You Bring

by monroeslittle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monroeslittle/pseuds/monroeslittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To be precise, he was <i>in</i> love with her, and had been for kind of a while.</p><p>But she didn’t know about that particular, totally unasked for development, and he wasn’t exactly eager to share the news. Instead, he’d get her a puppy, offer to raise it with her, and carry on being the pathetic, pining loser that he was forever, because that was healthy."</p><p>modern AU. Bellamy can't tell Clarke he's in love with her, but he <i>can</i> buy her a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love You Bring

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a break from tumblr (my friend literally changed my password so that I can't get on), and I haven't watched the new season because I'm afraid to, but where I live got A LOT of snow, and I needed something to do while I was snowed in, thus this fanfic came into being. Thanks to Lore for the prompt! 
> 
> Title and lyrics are from "Sing" by Travis.
> 
> It's short, and not a lot happens, but at least you've been warned. :) Also, sorry for all the typos. I didn't edit this very well.

_Baby, you've been going so crazy._  
_Lately, nothing seems to be going right._  
_So low, why do you have to get so low?_  
_You're so, You've been waiting in the sun too long._

  
\---  
  
He got the idea when they were heading to the bar on Monday, and passed a woman with a retriever. Clarke cooed, and asked what his name was, asked to pet him; she knelt, and laughed at the dog’s excitement, and when he pawed at her knees, and slobbered on her.  
  
She was _impossible_ to buy for, which meant he had to be creative.  
  
He went to the shelter after work on Thursday.  
  
There were a gazillion to pick from, but that was why he came with qualifiers. He needed it to be big, because she always liked those the best, and it needed to be fluffy, and cuddly, because she was the kind of person who’d totally want to cuddle with her dog. It needed to be playful, and social, and “one of those dogs that jumps on people,” he explained, “that, like, non-dog people hate,” and the woman at the shelter was amused.  
  
“I think we might have a few that you’ll like,” she said, and lead him back.  
  
“Puppies?” he said, surprised.  
  
There were half a dozen of them, tumbling in their pen.  
  
“They were brought in when they were tiny,” she told him. “They were in a fire, or that’s what we think. Most of them weren’t badly burned, but they were singed, and shy.”  
  
He looked at the mess of puppies.  
  
One of them saw, and bounded up to the plastic that bordered off their pen to yip at them. Bellamy touched a hand to the plastic, and the puppy was thrilled; it tried fruitlessly to lick his hand through the plastic, jumping, and pawing at the plastic, going pretty nutty.  
  
“She’s a sweetheart,” said the woman.  
  
She was a mess of brown, black, and white tufts of fur, had big, fat paws, and big floppy ears, and Bellamy saw a patch of pink, healed skin on her leg, and that her little, wildly wagging tail was singed. But she was happy, and playful, and she went crazy when he picked her up; she licked his hands, and pawed at his chest, wiggling, and licked his chin.  
  
He was sold.  
  
The group was supposed to exchange secret Santa presents on Saturday, but there was no way on Earth that he was going to be able to hide a puppy from Clarke that long. It was shocking that he’d been able to smuggle the puppy into the building without her noticing.  
  
She was getting her gift early.  
  
_I’m making spinach lasagna_ , he texted. _dinner when you’re done with work?_  
  
She didn’t actually reply, but that wasn’t new; he assumed that she was in the middle of a project, and she’d ignored the buzz of her phone. She’d see it when she was done for the day, and come without warning, barging in, and bringing wine, and he’d be ready for her.  
  
He had to trap the puppy between his legs to hold her down, but he managed to wrangle a bow onto her, and it was _adorable_. His plan was to hide her away in the bedroom, but.  
  
“I brought that wine you hate!” Clarke said, barging in.  
  
The puppy dodged Bellamy, and raced from the bedroom, barking, and skidding on the floor. Bellamy chased after her, and followed in time to see Clarke’s jaw drop.  
  
“You got a puppy?” she exclaimed, and she scooped up the puppy in delight, laughing.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Did you find her on the street?” Clarke asked, concerned. “If so, have you considered that now is the time to get a puppy?” She pressed her cheek to the puppy’s face.  
  
“See the bow?”  
  
“It’s cute.”  
  
“It’s for you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “She’s for you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I got you for the secret Santa thing,” he said, “and, ah. I . . . got you a dog.”  
  
She stared. “You got me a _dog_?”  
  
He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yes? I figured that you love dogs, and that since I live right here, I could help out with her, and everything. I know dogs are a lot of—”  
  
“Bellamy!” she exclaimed. “You got me a _dog_!”  
  
He laughed.  
  
“I’ve thought about getting a dog, but I always hear my mother’s voice in the back of my head, and she tells me how irresponsible that would be. But it’s not like I can take you back, is it?” She made a silly kissy face at the puppy. “Nope, I can’t. You’re mine now.”  
  
“I got you a kennel for her,” he added, “toys, food, bowls, a leash, and a collar.”  
  
“What are we going to name her?”  
  
“You pick.” He smiled. “She’s your puppy now.”  
  
Clarke sat on the ground to play with the puppy, and Bellamy gave her the toys that he’d bought, telling her that the puppy loved fetch, and would get anything that she threw.  
  
Clarke threw a stuffed squeaky lamb, and the puppy bounded after it.  
  
It raced back with the lamb, and Clarke cooed, “oh, who’s my good girl?” She rubbed the puppy’s ears, tossed the lamb, and glanced at Bellamy. “What kind of dog is she?”  
  
“She’s a mutt,” he said. “The shelter thinks she’s part-husky, part-retriever.”  
  
“She’s adorable,” Clarke said. “She’s seven different colors. She looks like a Snickers. Oh, good girl! Did you get that lamb for Mommy? Such a good girl! But what should your name be? Are you a lil’ Snickers? Should we call you Snickers? How’s that sound?”  
  
“I think you could call her lil’ shit, and she’d loved it,” Bellamy said.  
  
“Ignore that mean old man, Snickers,” Clarke said.  
  
“You’re really going to name her after a candy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Snickers barked, and Clarke barked in reply, which got Snickers really, _really_ excited. “I thought you were making me lasagna,” Clarke said, and she growled at Snickers, who stuck her butt in the air, wiggled, and growled in reply before Clarke tossed the lamb again, and Snickers flipped, and raced off, skidding on the floor, and running into a chair.  
  
Bellamy watched, and, yeah, he’d completely nailed Christmas.  
  
“You are going to help me with her, aren’t you?” Clarke asked, whistling at Snickers to get her attention before taking a photo of her on her phone. She glanced at Bellamy.  
  
“Yeah,” Bellamy said. “Of course.”  
  
She beamed.  
  
He smiled, and she returned her attention to the puppy, cooing.  
  
Here was the thing.  
  
He’d known Clarke since forever. They hadn’t grown up together, or anything. Her mom was a senator, and his mom once held a job for seven whole months. But she went to juvie when she was seventeen, forged a complicated, slightly combative friendship with Octavia while she was there, and was introduced to Bellamy after she got out, and, well, the point was that he’d gotten to know her at a time when some shitty things had been happening in both of their lives, and that was the kind of bullshit that makes loyal friends.  
  
They were friends, and he was glad, because he loved her.  
  
To be precise, he was _in_ love with her, and had been for kind of a while.  
  
But she didn’t know about that particular, totally unasked for development, and he wasn’t exactly eager to share the news. Instead, he’d get her a puppy, offer to raise it with her, and carry on being the pathetic, pining fuck that he was forever, because that was healthy.  
  
“I think my puppy might be the most perfect puppy ever,” she said. “In fact, I’m certain.”  
  
“Congratulations.”  
  
“There’s something funky going on with her tail, but I like it.”  
  
“The people at the shelter say she was in a fire,” he said, and Clarke’s gaze snapped to him in horror. “She’s totally okay,” he assured. “But she’s got some scars from it.”  
  
Clarke nodded, and reached for Snickers to whisper into her big, floppy ear.  
  
Bellamy smiled.  
  
“I haven’t smelled lasagna yet, Snickers,” Clarke said. “I wonder what’s up with that.”  
  
\---  
  
He knew, abstractly, that puppies were a lot of work. They were hyper, and needed to be walked, and trained, and loaded into the car to go to the vet’s for shots, and stuff. He thought he was pretty well prepared to be a father, or at least to be a weird, creepy uncle.  
  
He wasn’t. Snickers required _a lot_.  
  
It was a Saturday, he had absolutely no plans, and was parked in front of the TV with lunch when his phone buzzed once, and he glanced at the phone, and ignored it. Naturally, it buzzed again, and again, and he gave up, grabbing it up after a minute.  
  
There was a series of texts from Clarke, ending with _BelLAMY BLACK, YOU BUTT!_  
  
He frowned. _you know that’s not my name, right?_  
  
_GET YOUR FLAT LITTLE ASS OVER HER ENOW, OR SO HELP ME GOD_  
  
He stared at the text for a moment, finished the last of his beer, and heaved his way out of his recliner. She sent another text, threatening the safety of his balls. He didn’t bother putting on shoes, trekking across the hall to her door in socks. He knocked, and went in.  
  
“My ass is not flat,” he said.  
  
“Do you want to comfort, or clean up?” she asked.  
  
He blinked.  
  
She had her hair tossed up into a nest on her heard, was wearing one slipper, singular, and a t-shirt that she’d stolen from him, and a pair of purple, polka-dotted underwear. He knew this because she was very clearly, one hundred percent _not_ wearing a pair of pants.  
  
“Um, I’m going to need you to start at the beginning—”  
  
“Snickers doesn’t like fireworks,” she said, “and is peeing on everything I love in fear.”  
  
“Okay . . . ” He nodded. “Wait, what?”  
  
There was a pop of a firework in the distance, and Snickers howled.  
  
“Shit,” he said.  
  
“That, too,” she replied. “Who sets off fireworks the day _before_ New Year’s Eve?!”  
  
There was another cracking firework, and Snickers raced into sight, knocking a lamp off a table, and disappearing into the bedroom, crashing into something in there, too.  
  
“Snickers!” Clarke begged, and ran after her.  
  
That was when Bellamy registered that the place really was in shambles; three kitchen chairs were knocked over, books that belonged on her kitschy alcove bookcase were scattered on the floor, the trashcan was overturned, and a frame from the wall was a mess of broken, jagged pieces on the ground, waiting to be stepped on by frantic little paws.  
  
Also, yeah, there was a small golden lake of pee in front of the television.  
  
He decided to clean up the glass to start, and he managed to right the trashcan, and get the glass picked up, and thrown out before Snickers came barking madly into the room.  
  
He grabbed her, and held on.  
  
She bit him when she heard a firework, but it was little, harmless.  
  
Clarke followed, and they ended up on the sofa together with the shaking, whining dog, petting her and soothing her and hugging her tightly until the fireworks finally stopped.  
  
Snickers relaxed, and settled on Bellamy’s lap.  
  
Clarke leaned into Bellamy’s side, and it was quiet. “I’m not wearing pants,” she said.  
  
“You’ve also only got one slipper on.”  
  
She snorted, and kicked up her feet, displaying one slipper. “It’s been a day.”  
  
He knew they needed to clean up, but it was kind of nice to sit like that. Nice, and easy. He looked at her bare, knobby knees, and his eyes went up, saw the expanse of her thighs, and flickered away, landing on the pee. Yeah. He needed to get up, and clean up.  
  
“What would I do without you?” Clarke asked.  
  
“Not have a puppy, and an apartment covered with puppy pee?”  
  
She turned, and pressed her smile into his arm, and she smelled liked oranges, was warm, fit perfectly into his side. “Help me clean up, and I’ll pay you in pizza?” she offered.  
  
“Deal.” He started to push to his feet, giving Snickers a chance to jump off his lap first.  
  
“I’ll tackle the pee,” Clarke said.  
  
He nodded, and headed to right the chairs, and pick up the books. Clarke headed into the kitchen, and emerged with a paper towel roll, and a bottle of Fantastic. He was halfway done when he spotted the poop that was sitting in the corner, and smeared on the rug, too.  
  
He sighed. “Tina!” he yelled. “Bring me the axe!”  
  
In response, the paper towel roll sailed across the room to smack him square in the back.  
  
It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it didn’t take long to clean up, and right the apartment, and Clarke ordered pizza after; they ate it and watched a lot of _Blacklist_ , and played with Snickers, walking her, and trying fruitlessly to teach her to sit, and to stay. It was fun.  
  
\---  
  
He spent most of the month of January on cold weather prep, checking that the pipes he’d installed were insulted for the cold to come. It made for boring, mindless work that he was happy to escape as soon as the clock hit five, and he didn’t feel guilty clocking out.  
  
Monday was dollar rails night at Octavia’s bar, so that was when the group met up.  
  
“What it’ll be?” Octavia asked.  
  
“Bud.”  
  
She eyed him. “You know a cocktail is cheaper, right?”  
  
“You can add a lime.”  
  
She opened a bottle of Bud, and slid it down the bar to him. Miller clapped Bellamy on the shoulder, and claimed a stool. “How’s business, and when am I allowed to join?”  
  
Bellamy grinned. “My accountant says I can hire one employee in April.”  
  
“I didn’t know you had an accountant!” Maya said, bright.  
  
“His accountant is Clarke with a calculator,” Miller said. “PBR,” he added.  
  
Octavia gave him a can.  
  
“What are we talking about?” Raven asked, sitting.  
  
“Clarke,” Octavia said, “and the fact that she runs Bellamy’s life.”  
  
“She does not _run_ —”  
  
“She literally got you to quit your job, get a loan, and start a business,” Octavia said, “and she basically runs it with you, filing the paperwork, and managing all of the finances.”  
  
“It’s true,” Miller said.  
  
Maya bit her lip to bite in the start of a smile.  
  
“I _needed_ to go into business for myself!” Bellamy exclaimed, and Miller grinned while Octavia shook her head. “I worked for Pike for years, and I _watched_ him drive that business into the ground. He didn’t know shit about irrigation, _or_ about how to run an actual, functioning business. You know I found out he was taking out huge predatory loans to stay in business? He told me that my idea to have annual care contracts was stupid, and nobody was going to go for it, but _everyone_ I’ve talked to about since I started my business has been on board, and I made more money in a month that Pike made in—”  
  
“Dude, nobody is arguing with you,” Miller said, amused.  
  
“I think it’s great that you’ve gone into your business for yourself,” Monty agreed.  
  
“But I told you to start your own,” Miller continued, “and O told you to, and strangers on the street were telling you to, but it wasn’t until Clarke brought it up that it happened.”  
  
“The timing was right,” Bellamy said.  
  
Miller grinned.  
  
“Moving on,” Raven said, shushing Bellamy’s response. “How’s your totally not over-the-top, not meaningful Christmas present doing? Has she pooped in your bed yet?”  
  
“The puppy!” Maya smiled. “Clarke sends me Snaps. She is _adorable_.”  
  
“Now here’s what I really want to know,” Raven said. “Once Butterfingers is older, how are you going to explain that Daddy isn’t married to Mommy, and they don’t live together?”  
  
“Her name is Snickers,” Bellamy said.  
  
“How about because Dad is a coward?” Miller suggested.  
  
Bellamy shook his head.  
  
“You know she’s going to figure it out eventually, right?” Raven said. “You can only say you’re in love with her non-verbally in so many ways before she starts to figure it out.”  
  
“I am not in love with her,” Bellamy huffed. “I got her a dog, which she wanted.”  
  
“To raise with her,” Jasper added.  
  
“I think it’s sweet,” Maya said, trying to be helpful.  
  
“She wanted a dog!” Bellamy said. “I got her what she wanted!”  
  
“You guys are basically living together,” Raven continued. “There’s like a foot between your apartments. You could sneeze in your place, and she’d say bless you from hers.”  
  
“That is not something that I did,” he replied. “I lived there first.”  
  
“Right, you lived there, and got her to move in there, too.”  
  
“What was I supposed to do?” he said, exasperated. “Not tell my friend who was looking for an apartment that the nice, safe, _cheap_ apartment right by mine was for rent?”  
  
Raven sighed. “One of these days, I’m going to get drunk.”  
  
“I won’t stop you.”  
  
“I’m going to get drunk, and I just don’t think I’m going to be able to stop myself from singing that Little Mermaid song to you, and she’s going to be there, and it’s going—”  
  
“O!” Bellamy called. He needed another drink.  
  
“ _There you see her, / Sitting there across the way_ ,” Raven started. “ _She don’t get a lot to say, / But there’s something about her, / And you don’t know why, / But you’re dying to try, / You want to kiss the girl. Yes, you want her. / Look at her, you know you do. / It’s possible she wants you, too, / There is one way to ask her. It don’t take a word, / Not a_ —”  
  
“Do you seriously know the words?” Bellamy asked.  
 

“ _Sing with me now!_ ” Miller sang. “ _Sha-la-la-la-la-la, / My, oh my!_ ”  
  
“I will pay you to stop.” 

“ _Now’s your moment, floating in a blue lagoon,_ ” Raven trilled. “ _Boy, you better do it_ —” 

“Who is floating in a blue lagoon?” Clarke asked.  
  
Jasper choked on his beer.  
  
“Bellamy,” Raven said, unabashed. “He’s got to kiss the girl.”  
  
Clarke smiled. “There’s a girl?”  
  
Raven pointed her glass down the bar.  
  
Clarke looked, and Bellamy followed her gaze to see a pretty, laughing girl in a sparkly top. “She’s cute,” Clarke said, and she nudged Bellamy’s shoulder. “Go for it.”  
  
He cleared his throat. “I’m good.”  
  
She clucked her tongue in amused, mock disapproval, and smiled, gestured at Octavia for a drink. Mercifully, Monty changed the subject, and distracted her. Raven caught Bellamy’s eye, smiling softly at him, apologetically. He chugged the rest of the beer.  
  
\---  
  
It figured that Octavia was going to choose a Sunday to barge into his apartment at the crack of dawn, shouting, and banging on the bed, yanking the covers away from him.  
  
He groaned, and glanced at the clock. “The fuck?” It was 7:32 in the morning.  
  
“I went for a run, and came to a decision,” she explained.  
  
“Is it that you’re a fucking horrible sister?” he started, and swore when she opened the curtains; he tried to block the onslaught of sunlight with his hand. “ _Seriously_ , O?”  
  
“Up,” she said, smacking the bed.  
  
He sat up, and glared. “I’m up,” he said. “What’s your damage, Heather?”  
  
“I got a Groupon for eHarmony, and we’re using it.”  
  
He blinked. “Is this like a weird threesome thing that you want my advice on, or . . .?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “We’re using it on _you_. We’re making you a profile, and you’ve got three months at a discounted price to go on some nice dates, and meet some nice girls.”  
  
“Um, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I’ll pass.”  
  
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she said, and she pulled her laptop from her bag.  
  
“I’m serious,” he said.  
  
“Me, too.” She leveled him with that _look_. “I get that you’re madly in love with Clarke, and I get why. She’s smart, and funny, and beautiful, and it’s obvious that she cares about you a lot. But it’s time to face the fact that she isn’t into you. She’s just not, okay?”  
  
He sighed.  
  
“If she were, she’d have made a move by now. There’s no way that she doesn’t know that you’re into her. But she’s chosen to ignore it, because she doesn’t feel the same way.”  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m aware.  
  
“I’m not trying to be cruel,” Octavia said. “But I love you, and I want you to be happy.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Not as happy as you’d be if you’d move on, and find a girl who loved you back.” She raised her eyebrows at him like she was daring him to argue, and, well. He couldn’t.  
  
“I get your point,” he said. “But you really think eHarmony is the way to go?”  
  
“I have a Groupon.”  
  
“I fucking hate Groupons.”  
  
She nodded. “Okay. Number one, we need a girl who’s cool with a lot of profanity.” She pulled her legs up onto the bed, and settled her laptop in her lap, pulling up eHarmony.  
  
“I’m going to pee,” he said, “and make some coffee.”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
It turned out that making a profile on eHarmony was a bitch. You basically had to take a _test_ , and give your preference for everything on Earth. Once you made it through that, you still had to set up your whole stupid profile, and put up pictures, which wasn’t easy.  
  
“I’m pleased,” Octavia said.  
  
“Great,” he said. “I’m happy for you. Really. I’m thrilled.”

She smacked a hand to the back of his head.  
  
She left, and he made eggs for breakfast, and was planning on stopping by Clarke’s, and seeing if she wanted to take Snickers for a walk when his phone beeped with an e-mail.  
  
It was from eHarmony.  
  
Some girl sent him questions, and he looked at her profile. She was hot. He replied to her questions, and sent her some, and her response was immediate, bypassing whatever system that eHarmony had in place to message him, and ask him if he wanted to meet up.  
  
“That was easy,” he muttered. He sent Octavia a picture of the message.  
  
She responded with a lot of emojis.  
  
He set up a date with her for Friday, pulled on a t-shirt, and headed to Clarke’s.  
  
He found her trying to teach Snickers how to jump through a hoop, which was hilarious, and clearly going terribly. “This seemed like a really great way to spend your Sunday?”  
  
“Laugh,” she said. “But prepare to be blown away in the very near future!”  
  
He laughed.  
  
But, of course, he got roped into helping; it was his job to hold the hoop while Clarke got on her knees, hooting and clapping and gesturing for Snickers to run through the hoop towards her. Snickers was eager to sprint to Clarke, but preferred to run _around_ the hoop.  
  
Eventually, they got her to run through the hoop while it was on the ground.  
  
Clarke thrust a fist into the air. “Victory!”  
  
“Does it count if she doesn’t actually _jump_ through the hoop?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
He grinned, and Snickers dropped a slobbery, chewed up piece of rope at Bellamy’s feet, and barked, wagging her tail eagerly at him. Bellamy tossed it, and Snickers took off.  
  
He was going to tell Clarke about eHarmony, and his date. There wasn’t a reason not to. But it didn’t really come up that afternoon. They took Snickers for a walk, and he watched ESPN on while she worked on a commission from Etsy with her feet in his lap.  
  
It wasn’t until she texted him on Friday that he told her.  
  
_I have dinner with my mom tonight. bleh._  
  
He stopped by her apartment when he got her text, and her eyebrows flew up at the sight of him. “Is it Halloween, or do you have to go to the bank for something?” she asked.  
  
“I’ve got a date.”  
  
“Is that supposed to explain what’s on your head?”  
  
He winced. “Too much gel?”  
  
“Well, it’s kind of like you dunked your head in a bucket of grease.”  
  
He huffed, and crossed her apartment to her bathroom. It wasn’t _that_ awful. Of course, Clarke followed, and disagreed, and ended up wetting a towel, and attacking his head with it. “She isn’t going to be into me if I’m bald!” he protested, trying to bat her away.  
  
“Nonsense,” she said, scrubbing at his hair. “Plenty of women love baldies.”  
  
“Now I look like I’m homeless.”  
  
She laughed, and combed her fingers through his hair, fluffing it slightly. “There.” She took a step away from him, and tilted her head, assessing. “Roll up your sleeves.”  
  
He glared, and unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them.  
  
“Lose the tie.”  
  
He loosened the tie, and tossed it on her counter. “Better?”  
  
“Perfect,” she decided. “I’d bone you.”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“So.” She crossed her arms. “Who’s the date? You haven’t said anything about a crush.”  
  
“I, um. Met her on eHarmony.”  
  
Clarke blinked. “What’s that now?”  
  
“It’s a site for people who want, you know, dates, and . . . stuff.”  
  
“Sure.” She nodded. “But, um. eHarmony?” Her cheek twitched a little. “That’s what you went with? The super intense, Christian dating site? You couldn’t have started with, like, Tinder?”  
  
“There was a Groupon.”  
  
She pressed her lips together. “Well, in that case.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I think it’s great.”  
  
He passed her. “I came over here to suggest that if my date sucks, we can go teepee your mom’s house after. But if you’re just going to be a big bully, then I’m going to leave.”  
  
She laughed, and he shot her a stinkeye on his way out the door.  
  
He was supposed to meet Roma at a little, local Americana restaurant off Main with pie that was really great, or that was what she told him when she suggested the place; he’d never been before. He got there early, and was going to get a table, but she was early, too.  
  
“Bellamy?” she asked, and, yeah, she looked like her pictures, was tall and willowy and tan, dark-haired, bright-eyed. “I’m Roma.” She smiled. “It’s really great to meet you.”  
  
“You, too,” he said.  
  
They got a table, and ordered a couple of beers, and, well. It was kind of awkward, and they exchanged smiles of awkwardness, but that was dating in general for you. It was supposed to be awkward. That they’d met online didn’t make that much of a difference.  
  
“So,” she said. “This is weird, but I feel like I’ve met you before.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Where are you from?” she asked.  
  
“The city.”  
  
“Me, too.” She smiled.  
  
It wasn’t until after they’d ordered their food, and were snacking on bread that her eyes went wide. “What?” he asked, and she began to laugh, clapping a hand to her mouth.  
  
“I know how I know you,” she told him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”  
  
“Should I?”  
  
“You’re friends with Nate Miller, and John Murphy, and those guys, right?  
  
“Um, yeah.” He frowned. “Yeah, I am.”  
  
She nodded. “I went to school with them, and we met at a party that they brought you to. It was at a house on North River Street? The place was abandoned? We were kids?”  
  
“Shit,” he said, remembering. “We totally had sex, didn’t we?”  
  
“Sex?” she said, leaning in to whisper. “I think we were in a _threesome_!”  
  
He covered his face with his hand. “ _Shit_.”  
  
She laughed. “This is hilarious! I didn’t think this kind of stuff actually happened in real life! My online date is a guy I had a threesome with when I was a dumb, drunk kid!”  
  
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” he said, amused.  
  
“I am.” She grinned. “You are officially my best internet date. Ever.”  
  
It turned out that Roma was kind of cool. Their food came, and they caught up on people that they both happened to know. He told her about irrigation, and learned that she was a travel insurance agent, and why that was way more boring than you’d guess. He liked her. She seemed smart, and funny, and liked to laugh, and, yeah, the pie _was_ really great.  
  
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s the question I _have_ to ask.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“Why are you on eHarmony?”  
  
“Well, it was my sister’s idea,” he started.  
  
She scoffed. “Come on! You’re on eHarmony, dude; own up to it.”  
  
“I’m serious!” He sighed. "There’s a woman, and I have a thing for her. But we’re friends, and that’s not going to change. My sister thinks it’s pathetic that I’m pining, so. This is her solution. And, yeah, I didn’t say no. One, ‘cause that’s hard with her. And, two, ‘cause . . . I’d like to move on, too. But I haven’t had much luck with that on my own.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“I find it really, really hard to meet somebody who’s serious at a bar, and I want serious. I do. But I’ve learned that guys at bars don’t, and that’s the only way I know to meet people. Thus I decided to try my hand at eHarmony, which has mostly been duds, but—”  
  
“But you met me,” he said.  
  
She laughed. “Right,” she said. “Well, you want to get out of here?”  
  
They were heading out of the restaurant when his phone went off in his pocket. She was checking her phone, so he pulled out his, and frowned. It was a text from Clarke.  
  
_I can’t believe her._  
  
He didn’t have time to reply before there was another.  
  
_she’s ENGAGED._  
  
He stared. Her _mother_?  
  
_Dad hasn’t been dead for a year, and she’s already engaged!_  
  
“Is everything okay?” Roma asked.  
  
“Um—”  
  
It buzzed in his hand. _shit, I’m sorry, you’re on a date. I’m sorry. ignore me._  
  
He looked up from his phone, and found Roma’s brow creased with concern. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“You have to go?” she said.  
  
He nodded. “Yeah. My friend’s got some news that isn’t great.”  
  
“It wouldn’t happen to be the friend you’re in love with it, would it?” She must have seen the answer on his face; her smile was knowing, and tinged with sympathy. She hugged him. “It was great to meet you, Bellamy. Again. I had fun, and it’ll be a fun story to tell.”  
  
“I had fun, too,” he said.  
  
“I’d like to say that we should do it again, but I have feeling I’m not up for the challenge of winning you over. Would you hate me if I maybe gave you a little advice, though?”  
  
“Not at all.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a little harder to get over this girl than to . . . get under somebody else, or whatever that expression is.” She smiled. “But I’m rooting for you.”  
  
He smiled, and nodded. “Thanks.”  
  
He made it across town quickly, although parking sucked. But he got a spot at last, and he started for their building, only to see that Clarke was only just arriving now, too, was heading up the stairs, and carrying a small blue bag that he knew was from an ABC store.  
  
“Clarke!”  
  
She turned in surprise, and her face broke into a soft, soft smile. “Your date,” she said.  
  
“It was over,” he said.  
  
She was gussied up, but she always was when she was going to dinner at her mom’s; her hair was curled, and she had on make-up, a pretty green dress, and stockings, too. She was gorgeous, of course, but it always felt wrong to Bellamy when he saw her like this. It was like she was her mother’s Clarke when she was dressed this way, darling, dolled up.  
  
He preferred the flannel, and the big, misshapen sweaters, the pastel colored jeans, with paint on her hands, and in the mess of her ponytail.  
  
“Liar.” She shook her head.  
  
He smiled. “It was pretty much over,” he amended.  
  
She smiled, too, for a split-second. Then her face seemed to crumple, and he surged in. She folded easily into his arms, hugging him. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being stupid.”  
  
“You’re not.”  
  
“She’s _engaged_ ,” Clarke said. “Can you believe that?”  
  
“I didn’t know she was dating.”  
  
She drew away from him. “Right? Join the club.” Her voice was bitter, and surprised him when she decided to sit right then, right there on the steps that lead into their building.  
  
He sat with her.  
  
“I knew there was something she wanted to throw at me,” she started. “She’d called a lot, and left a lot of voicemails, reminding me to show up. But I thought it was going to be another talk about _my future_ , and how I was wasting my time trying to be an artist.” She shrugged. “But, of course, it wasn’t. It was to tell me that she was engaged. To _Marcus_.”  
  
“Do we know Marcus?”  
  
Clarke pulled the bottle out of the little ABC bag, and started to twist it off. “He’s the guy that arrested my dad six years ago. I know he was just _doing his job_. I know, ‘cause my mom likes to remind me of it every ten seconds. It figured that’d be because they were fucking.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.  
  
She poured the vodka into the cap of the bottle, and took a shot. “Me, too.” He rubbed her knee, and she leaned into his side. “She stayed with him while he was in prison, you know, and I really thought she was heartbroken when he had the stroke. I really thought that she loved him despite everything that happened. I—I thought she missed him, too—”  
  
He wrapped his arm around her, and she curled into his chest.  
  
“I hate her,” she muttered.  
  
“Me, too.”  
  
It was quiet for a beat, and she poured herself another shot, and gave him one, too. She knocked her knees into his. “How was your date?”  
  
“Good.  
  
“It wasn’t a disaster?  
  
“She was cool,” he said, “which is impressive, considering we’ve had sex.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Seriously.” He grinned. “It was, like, ten years ago.”  
  
Clarke laughed. “Well, do you think you’re going to see her again?”  
  
“Nah,” he said. “She was cool, but.” He shrugged. He didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t ask for more of an explanation that that. He stood, and offered a hand to her.  
  
She took his hand. “Snickers is going to be upset, isn’t she?” she asked.  
  
“That we abandoned her for about three hours? Yes.”  
  
“She’s probably scarred for life,” Clarke said. “But I guess we can start making up for it.”  
  
\---  
  
Octavia frowned, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” she started. “You’re saying that you actually had a _good_ online date, but you blew off sex, and the possibility of a beautiful, lasting romance to . . . let Clarke cry on your shoulder?”  
  
“She needed a friend.”  
  
“She has a ton of friends!” Octavia exclaimed.  
  
He sighed.  
  
“I know you’ve gotten more messages,” she said. “Have any dates?”  
  
He didn’t, but he could if he wanted. “Yes.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
That night, he replied to questions from a woman who was pretty, and had a really sparse profile; he got the sense that she wasn’t totally sold on the whole eHarmony thing. But they messaged, and agreed to meet up for Thai, and “maybe a movie, too” on Thursday.  
  
“Is that a name?” Clarke asked. “Echo?”  
  
“Really?” he said. “Clarke?”  
  
“Hey!” She pointed a slice of pizza at him. “Clarke is totally a name.”  
  
“Give an example.”  
  
“Um, okay. How about the very beloved, esteemed William Clark, who traversed the wild, treacherous countryside of early, western America with his boo, Meriwether?”  
  
“His name was William.”  
  
“Clark Kent!” she shouted. “Superman!”  
  
He laughed.  
  
On Thursday, he passed on the gel, and wore a button-up that he knew Clarke liked. Or he started to. But halfway through buttoning it up, he wondered what the fuck he was doing. He wasn’t on his way to a date with _Clarke_. It didn’t matter what she liked on him.  
  
He changed, and went to meet a woman who wanted to go out with him.  
  
Echo was, ah. Scary.  
  
It was clear she knew what she thought, and believed, and wanted from life, and that was great. But she was intense, and kind of angry; it seemed like she was itching for a fight.  
  
“Do you want kids?” she asked.  
  
He blinked.  
  
“I don’t really see the point in wasting my time with someone at my age if we aren’t looking for the same things, so I like to establish the basics as soon as possible.”  
  
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “I get that. Um, yeah. I do.”  
  
“Do you?” she asked. “Or are you saying that because you want to have sex with me?”  
  
“I’m saying that because I raised my sister, and I know what it takes, and what it means. I think I’d be a pretty good father. I don’t want a lot, but I'd like a couple at least.”  
  
She stared for a moment, and nodded. “Good.”  
  
He decided to pass on a movie.  
  
He was going to crash as soon as he got to his apartment, but he heard Snickers barking behind Clarke’s door, and wasn’t able to resist. He knocked on the door, heading in.  
  
Clarke was painting her nails. “How was your date?”  
  
Snickers ran circles around Bellamy, and he knelt to scratch her ears. “Bad,” he said.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“She asked me if I had an STD, and I choked on a radish.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, smiling.  
  
He nodded. “Whatever.” He tossed a bunny for Snickers to chase, and sat. “I got another three messages from women today, so I’ll live. Other nice fish in the sea, and shit.”  
  
She nodded, and bit her lip. “Do you really want to be doing this?” she asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You know, going on dates with women you meet on the Internet?”  
  
He sighed.  
  
“I know it works for a lot of people, but . . . it doesn’t really seem like you.”  
  
“I mean, I don’t really love _dating_ ,” he said. “But I want what comes from dating. I want a relationship. I’m not great at putting myself out there, though. This forces me to try at least.” It was true. He might not want to admit it to Octavia, but he _wanted_ a relationship.  
  
“Right.” She nodded.  
  
Snickers dropped the bunny at Bellamy’s feet, and barked. He ended up spending the rest of evening at Clarke’s, trashing her at _Dance Dance Revolution_ until Snickers tried to join in, and peed with excitement. Why was he going on random, internet dates with strangers again?  
  
\---  
  
They started talking about a blizzard days before it was supposed to happen. But it was going to be big, and bad, and the grocery store shelves needed to be cleared ASAP.  
  
“I don’t think it’s actually going to snow,” Bellamy said.  
  
“We’ll get flakes at least,” Clarke said, checking the batteries in her flashlight.  
  
His friends _were_ getting ready for the storm. Miller texted about how impossible it was to find any salt. Raven was going to stay with grandma on Thursday so that she’d get snowed in with her, and be able to look after her. Harper bought a tarp to protect her car.  
  
They were right to prepare.  
  
Clarke was asleep when he took Snickers from her apartment the morning that the storm was predicted to start, and took her on a walk. The air wasn’t crisp, and there wasn’t a flake in sight. But a block from their building, snow began falling. Snickers was _thrilled_.  
  
He dragged her into Clarke’s apartment, and let her off her leash to wake up Clarke.  
  
“Good morning, Vietnam!” he shouted.  
  
“Go away!” Clarke yelled, and it came out half yell, half grunt.  
  
He grinned. “It’s snowing!”  
  
It was quiet.  
  
Then there was a thud, and Clarke hopped into the room, pulling on socks. “It’s snowing?” Her face was bright, and she squealed in delight when she looked out the window.  
  
The snow fell fast, and _stuck_ , piling up.  
  
“We should take Snickers out before it gets really, really bad,” Clarke said.  
  
“We’re going to have to take her out when it’s really, really bad regardless,” he replied.  
  
“That can be your job.” She smiled. “You don’t mind _flakes_ , right?”  
  
Clarke dressed up hilariously in a coat, a scarf, a hat, and gloves, and none of it matched. She put on pink rain boots, too. He took Snicker’s leash, and they headed out; they stepped into the snow, and Clarke slipped her fuzzy blue gloved hand into his, squeezing.  
  
They didn’t end up walking far. They stopped when Snickers wanted to play in the snow, and Bellamy wrestled with her until Clarke threw a snowball, which, yeah, he had to yank off her hat, and smash a ball of snow after that. Snickers ran around them, barking, and sniffing the snow, having the time of her life. She was bigger now, but that didn’t mean Bellamy couldn’t scoop her up in his arms, and Clarke took a selfie with the three of them.  
  
Bellamy had lost the feeling in his fingers by the time they returned to the apartment.  
  
Naturally, they stripped off their cold, wet clothes _before_ Snickers decided to shake water all over them.  
  
Clarke laughed, and changed, and made hot chocolate on the stove. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be warm again,” she said, setting the mugs on the table, and joining Bellamy on the sofa. He gave her some of the blanket, and she snuggled into his side.  
  
Snickers jumped onto the sofa to cuddle with them, too.  
  
“Still.” She sighed. “I love snow.”  
  
“You’ll love it less when you realize you can’t drive anywhere for a week,” he said.  
  
“Nope.” She pressed her cheek to his arm. “I’ll always love snow.”  
  
They snacked on crackers and cereal and popcorn for lunch, and he volunteered to make them dinner, scrounging up the ingredients for chili, and using the crockpot to cook it.  
  
They watched Netflix.  
  
Clarke made hot chocolate again, and added a dash of schnapps. Or more.  
  
Her cheeks were flushed with warmth, and she stretched out on the sofa, kicking at his legs until he shifted; he ended up slumped on the end of the sofa with his legs on the table, and her head on his stomach. He brushed her hair behind her ear, and she made a noise.  
  
“Sorry,” he murmured.  
  
“I like it,” she said. “Snickers is right. It’s nice to be petted.”  
  
He grinned. “How can you possibly be drunk?”  
  
“Shh,” she said. “Something dramatic’s happening to your fave.”  
  
She was talking about Netflix, and Red on _Blacklist_ , and he looked at TV dutifully. But her head was heavy on his stomach, and he combed his fingers through her hair, light, absent-minded. Or he was trying to be, because it wasn’t like he’d been dreaming of running his fingers through her hair for years, and it wasn’t really soft, and perfect, and—  
  
“Bell,” she murmured.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“If I got married, and you told me my spouse was an evil, manipulative spy, I’d believe you.”  
  
He laughed, and she must’ve felt the rumble.  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“I know you are,” he said.  
  
“Do you believe me?” she asked. Her voice was thick with sleep.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yes, Clarke.” He smiled. “I believe you when you say that you’d believe me if I told you that your husband was an evil, manipulative spy.”  
  
She hummed. “Good.”  
  
He wasn’t sure when he nodded off, and Netflix quit on them, or why when he must have woken up again in the middle of the night, he didn’t take Clarke to her bed, or go to his own. But when he woke in the morning to the pad of the puppy’s paws on Clarke’s hardwood floor, he remained on the sofa, and tangled up in Clarke. Literally. He was lying on his back, and she was half on top of him, half beside him; her head was pillowed on his chest, her legs were tangled with his, and her breasts were pressed to his side, and, well.  
  
He was hard. He swallowed, and willed his dick to get in check. He shifted.  
  
Clarke sighed.  
  
Snickers barked, and jumped up suddenly, pressing her paws to the window. She whined, and barked, _and barked_ , and Clarke groaned, and rolled off Bellamy, falling to the floor.  
  
“Shit.” He scrambled to sit up.  
  
“I think I broke my butt,” Clarke said, rubbing at her eyes. “Snickers!”  
  
In reply, Snickers barked wildly at the window.  
  
Clarke shifted to sprawl on her back. “Snickers! Cool it, or I will turn this car around!” She glanced at Bellamy, and heaved a sigh. “I bet it’s a cute, little snowman again.”  
  
“She’s keeping us safe from evil, home-invading snow people, Clarke.”  
  
She smiled, and it was warm and sleepy and soft.  
  
He surged to his feet, and whistled. “Come on, Snickers. Let’s take a walk.”  
  
It was still snowing heavily out, and nobody was going anywhere, any time soon. But as soon as the roads were cleared, he was going on a date with a nice, interested woman.  
  
\---  
  
The city cleared the streets, but that meant they pushed the snow to the side, blocking in the cars that were parked on the street, and it was a battle to get your car out after. Bellamy took a lot of pictures of Clarke hacking madly at the wall of snow with a shovel.  
  
Life went back to normal, and Bellamy tried to get a bit of distance from Clarke.  
  
He looked at the napkin in his bureau, and nearly got up the nerve to toss it. He couldn’t.  
  
But he set up a date for Friday.  
  
It figured that as soon as he set up the date, and logged off, he’d get a text from Clarke. _finally signed Snickers up for her first obedience class!!! Friday at 6. want to come?_  
  
He texted that he had a date, but _let me know how it goes._  
  
“This is what?” Raven asked, popping a peanut into her mouth. “Date number three?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
She tapped her fingers on the bar. “You aren’t doing this to make Clarke jealous, right?”  
  
“What?” He frowned. “No.”  
  
She took a drink from Octavia. “Good.”  
  
He wasn’t a dick, or _stupid_. He understood that Clarke didn’t see him that way, and he wasn’t trying to manipulate her feelings by going on a bunch of dates with strangers.  
  
“I asked her if she was.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Jealous,” Raven said. “I asked her if she was jealous.”  
  
“Okay . . . ?”  
  
“She claimed that she wasn’t.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“She was lying.”  
  
His eyebrows flew up. “Have you shared that theory with my sister?”  
  
“I’ve heard Octavia’s spiel,” Raven dismissed, “and I’m not saying that Clarke’s got a thing for you. But even Octavia’s got to admit that you _are_ kind of Clarke's guy. Even in college, you were who she ran to when shit went down. I mean, come on. She used to have drunk sex with girls, then go to _your_ apartment, and spend the night in _your_ bed.”  
  
“I slept on the couch.”  
  
“You’re her person, Bell,” Raven said. “Now it’s occurring to her that you might end up somebody else’s person, and she won’t admit it, but she doesn’t like that. Trust me.”  
  
“I . . . don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”  
  
She shrugged. “Me, neither.”  
  
Miller got to the bar, and took a stool, and Bellamy was happy to change the subject.  
  
Traffic was awful on Friday, and he was late to the restaurant.  
  
“Gena?” he said.  
  
She smiled. “Bellamy! Nice to meet you.”  
  
“I’m sorry I’m late. There was an accident on 95, and we were going at a _crawl_.”  
  
“Not a problem at all,” she said, flashing a Kindle at him.  
  
They headed into the restaurant, and it was clear that Gena was shy, and nervous. But he asked what she was reading, and that got her talking. It turned out that she was a fan of steam punk novels, which she explained to him in detail, and they did sound kind of cool. He learned, too, that she didn’t like salads, was really into reality TV, and loved to jog.  
  
She was nice, and hugged him at the end of the date.  
  
“I really enjoyed tonight,” she told him. “Give me a call if you want.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
He was only half way out of his car when he heard Snickers barking, and he saw her on the sidewalk, straining at her leash to get to him. Clarke waved, and it made him smile.  
  
“Training was only kind of a disaster,” she said.  
  
He nodded, and squatted to make it easier for Snickers to paw at him, and lick his face.  
  
“How was your date?  
  
“It was, ah. Good,” he said. “It was good.”  
  
She raised her eyebrows in amusement. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell if you’re being sincere.”  
  
“I am. It wasn’t the most exciting date in the world, but—”  
  
“She was hot?” Clarke nodded. “Sure.”  
  
He laughed. “Mostly.”  
  
“ _Mostly_?” she repeated. “What does _mostly_ mean?”  
  
They started up the steps of the building with Snickers in the lead, and Bellamy got his key out. “Ah . . . it means that, you know, she was cute, but she isn’t really my type.”  
  
“You have a type?” Clarke grinned.  
  
“Come on,” he said, holding the door for her. “Who doesn’t have a type?”  
  
“What’s your type?”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“Well, let me see a picture!”  
  
“Of my type?” They went into her apartment.  
  
“Of your date!”  
  
He gave her a look.  
  
It was ineffective. “Picture, picture, picture!” she chanted.  
  
He sighed. “Where’s your laptop?”  
  
She grinned, and fetched it, standing over his shoulder while he pulled up eHarmony, and navigated to Gena’s profile. “That’s her?” Clarke asked, leaning in to look at a picture.  
  
“That’s her.”  
  
“She’s really cute,” Clarke said. “She looks like the girl next door in a movie.”  
  
He closed the window. “She was nice.”  
  
"Hey, wait." She pulled open another, and went to YouTube.  
  
“Is this sad cat diary again, because I really think you need to move on—”  
  
“Nope,” she said. “I discovered something amazing, and need to show you. But, for the record, sad cat diary is the best, and I will never move on, thank you very much.”  
  
He snorted when she pulled up a Lonely Island video. “YOLO?”  
  
“It’s new!”  
  
“That’s, like, two years old,” he protested.  
  
“Well, _I’d_ never heard it before,” she said, starting it, “and it blew my mind.”  
  
“You call yourself a fan.”  
  
She covered his mouth with her hand. “Shush.”  
  
Of course, they had to watch the rest of the Lonely Island songs when YOLO finished, and that was how they ended up on the sofa with beer, singing along drunkenly with whatever YouTube offered via autoplay.  
  
“I’m telling you,” Clarke said. “Nelly is an _artist_.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I don’t think you do. Nelly is the best by _far_ for giving lap dances.”  
  
He snorted. “What?”  
  
“I’m serious. Talk to Raven. I gave her a lap dance to Country Grammar, and it was _awesome_.”  
  
“Why were you giving Raven a lap dance?” He grinned.  
  
“Because I’m a good friend, that’s why. Duh.”  
  
He laughed, and she looked at him. Another song started, but she bit her lip, and her gaze stayed on him. “He’s good, too,” Bellamy said, clearing his throat. “R. Kelly. He’s—”  
  
“Bell.”  
  
He swallowed.  
  
“I like your hair when it’s like this.” She brushed her fingers over his hair. “Longer.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
He nodded. “I cut my hair that time, remember? I’ll never forget you starting at me, then saying _what did you do_? Like I’d done something absolutely reprehensible.”  
  
She smiled. “I remember.” She looked at her lap for a moment, and back up. “I—” For a split-second, her eyes dropped to her lips, and when she looked up again, she shifted.  
  
Inadvertently, he wet his lips.  
  
“ _Bell_ —”  
  
There was a crash from the kitchen, and both of them looked over in alarm, only to hear the clatter of hurried, guilty paws on tile a second after. Bellamy sighed. “Snickers!”  
  
Snickers ran from the kitchen into Clarke’s bedroom.  
  
Clarke headed for the kitchen, and “Snickers!” she groaned. “I thought we had a talk about _not_ knocking over the trash, and _not_ digging through it, and scattering it _everywhere_!” She reappeared in the doorway with her hands on her hips, and looked sourly at Bellamy. “I threw out a bunch of super old, super gross leftovers this morning.”  
  
“I take that to mean somebody’s going to need a bath?”  
  
She shook her head. “Snickers!” she sang. “Daddy has a really fun surprise for you!”  
  
It took both of them to get her into the tub, and one of them needed to get in with her, and hold her while the other washed her off. Bellamy got into the tub with her, so he was going to need a bath, too, to wash off the old, smelly noodles they’d washed off Snickers.  
  
“Thanks for your help,” Clarke said.  
  
He nodded, and, with her towel around his shoulders, headed to his apartment to shower.  
  
\---  
  
He didn’t see much of Clarke for the rest of the weekend. He crossed the hall on Saturday to see what she was up to, but the door was locked, and her apartment was quiet. He texted her, and learned that she was hiking with Raven for the day, and staying the night at Raven’s.  
  
He knew he’d see her at Octavia’s bar on Monday, though. He was early.  
  
“Got a date for this weekend?” Octavia asked.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
She put a hand on her hip.  
  
“I . . . I don’t really think the internet dating thing is working, and Clarke—” He stopped. He wanted to say _and Clarke almost kissed me_ , but he knew what that would lead to.  
  
“What?”  
  
He sighed. “Nothing.”  
  
“I heard what Raven was telling you last week,” she said, “and I don’t think you should let it go to your head. Clarke loves you. Nobody’s ever denied that. But she isn’t interested in a relationship, and the fact that she’ll be uncomfortable with you having—”  
  
“I know,” he snapped, and her eyes went wide. He softened his voice. “I get it.”  
  
“Bell, I’m—”  
  
“Just trying to be a good little sister, and give me your opinion, I know. But your opinion isn’t the end all, be all, and even when you’re right, you don’t have to remind me every ten seconds. I listen, okay? I’m aware. Clarke doesn’t like me the way I like her. I _know_.”  
  
“Okay,” Octavia said, quieter. “I’ll back off.”  
  
He nodded.  
  
But when he finished his beer, he left the cash, and headed out of the bar to call Gena.  
  
She was cute, and nice, and it wouldn’t hurt to go another date with her. Clarke might’ve been about to kiss him on Friday, but that was probably just because Raven was right, and he was her guy, and it was weird for her that he was passing on time with her to go on dates. Clarke didn’t have a thing for him, but Gena might. Gena was cute, and nice.  
  
Her voice was warm when she answered the phone, and she’d _love_ to go to dinner again.  
  
They met up for dinner, and walked along a side shopping street, looking into the shops. They went into a local, used books store, and browsed for a while. It was pretty fun.  
  
\---  
  
He had no idea what was going on when the loud, angry blaring woke him. He glared at the clock, and saw it was close to three in the morning. He sat up, and the noise was _attacking_ his skull, but he didn’t know what the fuck it was. He pushed away the sheets, and stood, grabbing his phone. There was a text from Clarke, and she had the answer.  
  
_is that a fucking fire alarm?!_  
  
It was. He headed out of his apartment, and ran into a string of people streaming down the stairs from the upper level apartments. He didn’t know them, but he joined in.  
  
The street was full of people, but he saw Clarke.  
  
She was standing in her pajamas, and Snickers was whining at her side. She barked when she saw Bellamy, and he started for them. “The fuck is going on?” he asked. Clarke shook her head. The building didn’t look like it was on fire, but he could hear sirens in the distance.  
  
“My guess is somebody burnt toast.”  
  
He frowned. “You okay?”  
  
“I’m cold,” she said. “I freaked, and ran out here without grabbing a coat.”  
  
He stepped in closer, and she didn’t bat an eye, pressing into his chest, and making it easy for him to wrap his arms around her. “Fuck, you are cold. It’s been like half a minute.”  
  
“I have really bad circulation!” she protested. “I chill _very_ easily!”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
She rested her cheek on his chest. “Shut up.”  
  
He smiled.  
  
The fire truck came screaming up the street, and a handful of firemen poured out, heading into the building. Nobody knew what was going on; he doubted they would for a while.  
  
“You smell like oranges.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
He laughed. “That was supposed to be a question.”  
  
“It’s my shampoo. It’s citrus-scented, and good for curls.”  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
She tilted her head up, pressing her chin to his chest, and looking at him. “Can you come to puppy obedience class on Friday? I think Snickers would do better with you there.”  
  
He winced. “Shit. I forgot.”  
  
“You have a date?”  
  
“Gena.”  
  
She was surprised. “You’re going out with her again?”  
  
“It’s actually our third date,” he said. “We went to that weird space diner on Tuesday.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“What?”  
  
She blinked. “Nothing. I mean, I—I thought she _wasn’t your type_ , or whatever.”  
  
“She’s growing on me.” He shrugged.  
  
“That’s . . . really great.” She smiled, and it was off, closed-mouthed, but she turned her face, resting her cheek on his chest again. “I might fall asleep like this. Is that bad?”  
  
“I’ll probably drop you in some leftover, dirty snow,” he warned.  
  
“I’m okay with that.”  
  
He knew she was kidding, but her weight did seem to shift, and she leaned into him more fully. But it was kind of nice, having the trust of her warm, soft weight in his arms.  
  
Eventually, the firemen returned, and talked to the landlord.  
  
It turned out there was a small kitchen fire in one of the apartments, but it was put out, and the building was safe, and everyone was free to return to their apartments. They headed in.  
  
In his bed, Bellamy stared at the ceiling, and had a problem.  
  
He really, really didn’t want to go to dinner with Gena when he could go to puppy obedience school with Clarke.  
  
\---  
  
Clarke worked for herself, selling her art on Etsy, and teaching a couple of classes to kids at the local community center. It meant that she tended to sleep in until noon a lot.  
  
But it was seven in the morning when she barged into his apartment, bringing Snickers.  
  
He was on the phone with a customer, and the door of his apartment banged against the wall. Clarke was wearing boxers that belonged to him, and a sweater that Monty knit her for Christmas two years ago; her hair was a mess, and her eyes were bloodshot, and “I have to go,” he said. “Yes, I’ll call you back on Tuesday to confirm.” He hung up.  
  
“We need to talk,” she said. “I have something I need to tell you. Now.”  
  
He frowned. “Did you sleep last night?”  
  
“I stalked your girlfriend.”  
  
“You—”  
  
“I put on a hat, and—I _bought_ a hat, and put it on, then I followed her around, and when I wanted to get a look at her face, I purposely ran into her, and spilled my coffee on her, and she is _gorgeous_ , okay, and she was ridiculously nice about the coffee, and I hate her.”  
  
He opened his mouth, and closed it. “Didn’t I show you a picture of her face?”  
  
She huffed. “I was hoping it was old, and she was now less attractive and _adorable_ and fucking—just—perfect.” She threw up her hands. “I know I’m being ridiculous. But you’ve never—dated anybody before,” she said, and her gaze was pleading him to understand. “Not really. But now you’re going on a bunch of dates with this girl, and—”  
  
“Clarke.”  He thought of what Raven said, and it felt like a fist around his lungs, but he swallowed, and went on. “Just because I’m dating her, doesn’t mean that we’ll stop—”  
  
“I don’t want to be your friend,” she said.  
  
He stared. “I—”  
  
Snickers barked at a bird in the window.  
  
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “But I need you to know. You deserve a girl like her. Gena. Pretty, and together, and—and able to function like a normal, healthy person.”  
  
“Clarke.” He frowned.  
  
“Let me finish. I need to say this, okay? I need to.” She swallowed. “You deserve the world, Bell. You deserve waffles in bed, and blowjobs, and—and cuddling while watching boring documentaries about dictators, and I _know_ that, I’ve known it for years, and I thought I couldn’t be the one to give you that, but—let me try? I can—I _want_ to be the one to give you that. I thought I couldn’t; I thought I wasn’t cut out for relationships after everything with my parents, and my few, _awful_ attempts at relationships, but I want—I don’t just want to be your friend. I mean, I love that we’re friends, I do; I’m _glad_ we’re friends, but I want more than that, and I—I really think that it’s your turn to talk.”  
  
“I’m in love with you.”  
  
She stared.  
  
“I’m serious. Gena’s great, but it’s like I said. She isn’t my type.” He shrugged. “She’s just not.”  
  
Her smile was tearful, disbelieving. “Sweet, blonde, and beautiful isn’t your type?”  
  
“Nope.” His heart was beating wildly, trying to escape his chest, and jump into her hands, and it was impossible not to smile, looking at her, and holding her gaze, knowing. “I’m more into salty, blonde, and beautiful.”  
  
“That’s—” She pointed at herself. “That’s me, right?”  
  
He grinned. “That’s definitely you.” He reached out, brushing her hair from her face.  
  
Her eyes were wet. “Raven said, but I—” She shook her head.  
  
“Raven was right.”  
  
She bit her lip. “I’m really afraid to mess— _us_ up.”  
  
“You won’t.” He cupped her cheek.  
  
She leaned into his touch. “You don’t understand. I always mess up relationships. Not just mess them up. I _destroy_ them, and I—I don’t want that to happen with you.”  
  
“It won’t.”  
  
“Can you promise me that?”  
  
“I promise. You can’t get rid of me, Clarke. Try. I’m like fucking lint.”  
  
She choked on a laugh, and tears spilled free. She hugged him, pressing her face into his cheek, and he wrapped his arms around her, and breathed in. She smelled like oranges.  
  
She pulled away after a beat, and wiped at her eyes, smiling.  
  
“Can I kiss you now?”  
  
She nodded. “Yes. Definitely. _Yes_.”  
  
He kissed her.  
  
He slid his hand into her hair, and she leaned up, and it was just a quick, excited kiss. Her laughter was breathless, and he kissed her again, and again, teasing her; she curled her hand around the back of his neck, and took over, opening her mouth, and deepening the kiss. He held her closer, and he caught her lip between his, and she couldn’t help smiling.  
  
He smiled, too.  
  
She leaned her forehead against his. “I talked to Octavia,” she said. “Yesterday. I called her. She was supposed to talk me out of this, remind me how you deserved better. She told me I had to listen closely because my head was shoved so far up my ass.” Clarke laughed, and he squeezed her hip “She told me that I didn’t get to decide if I was good enough for you. That it was up to you, and I had to tell you the truth, and give you a say.”  
  
“That’s what she said?”  
  
“Verbatim.”  
  
“She’s right, you know,” he murmured, and tilted his face, kissing her cheek. “It _is_ up to me, and you are good enough. You’re more than good enough. You’re— _everything_.”  
  
She took his face in her hands, and kissed him. “I’m in love with you, too.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
She nodded. “Yes.”  
  
He kissed her.  
  
It was different, sloppy and happy and rushed, and when she laughed, he bit her lip, and pulled her closer, slipping his hand under her shirt to touch the soft, warm skin of her back, and she kissed him, and pushed her hands into his hair, curled her fingers into fists. She was bossy, moving her lips against his insistently, and sliding her tongue over his.  
  
She pressed a kiss to the corner of his lap, and to his jaw, and her nose brushed his cheek.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
He smiled. “Hi.”  
  
Her eyes were bright; her lips were red and wet and kissed. She slid her hands down his chest, curled her fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants. “You want a blowjob?”  
  
He stared. “What?”  
  
She shifted, and her thigh brushed his erection.  
  
“I’ve kind of been dreaming about kissing you for a while, okay?” he said, defensive, and she laughed. “Seriously, though. No rush.” He brushed her hair behind her ear. “I’m ready when you’re ready. I’m not about to go anywhere.” He kissed the tip of her nose.  
  
She smiled. “Seriously, though,” she said. “You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
“Then I get to give you blowjobs.” She grinned. “I’ve been thinking about it for ages.”  
  
He laughed. “You have not.”  
  
“It was how I first realized I had a thing for you!”  
  
He grinned, and she rocked on her heels, wrapping her arms around his back.  
  
“I’m serious! It was last year. You had that huge fight with Octavia, remember? You guys weren’t talking, and you were wandering around all wounded and mad about it. Raven decided that we needed to find a girl to suck your dick, and she started, like, scouring the bar in search of girls, and I was just suddenly freaking out. I had to come up with a bunch of random, stupid reasons why every girl was obviously completely unacceptable. Because if any girl was going to be sucking your dick, it was going to be me.”  
  
He laughed.  
  
She kissed him. Then she dropped to her knees, taking his pants down with her.  
  
She licked the length of his erection, and glanced up, smiled wickedly before she swirled her tongue around the tip, and took him into her mouth. He’d had this dream before.  
  
He’d had a lot of dreams, had imagined kissing and cuddling and confessions of love, and there was that time that he helped Mrs. Bojarski bring in her groceries while Clarke held Mrs. Bojarski’s baby, and that had fueled a daydream that he’d shared with _no one_ , but he’d dreamed of this, too, of her on her knees, bobbing her head, and sucking him off, and when she was finished, he was going to do everything else he’d dreamed of doing to her.  
  
He curled his hands into his fists, and stared at the top of her head, and his dick, disappearing into—  
  
There was the clatter of paws on the ground, and Snickers was on her way towards them.  
  
“Not now, Snickers,” Bellamy said, strangled.  
  
But there was a chewed up bunny in her mouth, and she dropped it next to them, barked. Clarke laughed on his dick, which, _fuck_ , but Snickers barked again, and nudged Bellamy’s thigh with her snout, and Clarke pulled away, wiping her mouth, and laughing.  
  
He snatched up the bunny, and threw it, and Snickers went racing off.  
  
Clarke couldn’t stop laughing. She pushed to her feet, and kissed him. “Bedroom?”  
  
But as soon as they shut the door to the bedroom, and made their way to the bed, kissing and groping and grinning, there was a whine. Paws smacked the door, and Snickers barked, and whined again. Clarke pressed her smile into his cheek, and he heaved a sigh.  
  
“Rain check, then?” She smiled.  
  
“I guess.” He kissed her, and kissed her again, and she pressed in closer, deepening the kiss. There was a bark, and the door rattled with Snicker’s efforts to break in.  
  
Clarke laughed. “I’m coming, puppy!” She scrambled off the bed, fixing her shirt.  
  
She opened the door, and Snickers barreled into her, barking, and licking her face when Clarke knelt. Clarke laughed, and got dog slobber all over her face. She glanced at Bellamy, hugging the puppy, and beaming at him, and Bellamy really, really loved her.  
  
\---  
  
It turned out that Clarke let Snickers sleep in bed with her at night, which Bellamy wasn’t necessarily against; it just made is _slightly_ more difficult to find the time for, you know.  
  
Also, Snickers apparently couldn’t be alone. Ever. They’d spoiled her.  
  
Between the two of them, she was almost never alone. If Clarke had to go out, she’d drop off Snickers at Bellamy’s. There were times when he was working, of course, but. Still. Snickers cried as soon as he shut the door to Clarke’s apartment on her. It was a problem.  
  
They made out a lot, though, and disgusted their friends at the bar on Monday.  
  
He was cutting up a tomato for dinner on Tuesday when he heard Clarke come in.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted. “I’d say dinner in half an hour. The roast—”  
  
She ran at him, and jumped him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. “I bought Raven a pizza!” she exclaimed, and she smacked a wet, loud kiss to his ear.  
  
“Congratulations?”  
  
She laughed, and slipped off his back, allowing him to turn in her arms, and face her. “We have a fluffy, four-legged baby, Bell” she said. “I had to hire a babysitter.”  
  
“Raven?”  
  
“She’s at my apartment for the night, eating my food, and watching our baby.”  
  
He grinned.  
  
“Now you’re with me,” she teased, and he kissed her.  
  
They undressed in a rush, tugging off their shirts, and kicking away their jeans, shoving down their underwear. He surged in for a kiss, and she smiled into his lips while she shrugged off her bra, and tossed it. He pulled her closer; she was soft and warm and _his_.  
  
“Bedroom?” she suggested, breathless.  
  
“I’m good with the kitchen.”  
  
She kissed him, and there was laughter in her voice. “Then I’m on top.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
She squawked in surprise when he grabbed her waist suddenly to hoist her onto the table, and broke into laughter, kissing him. “I’ve never actually had sex in a kitchen before.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“What do you mean _you know_?”  
  
He kissed her neck. “You got drunk, and said it was on your list to have sex in a library, and in a kitchen, too, and Raven made fun of you for never having had kitchen sex.”  
  
“You remember that?” She smiled.  
  
“Distinctly.”  
  
She laughed, and he bent his head to kiss her breast, because, _fuck_ , he’d wanted to get his mouth on her breasts for _years_ ; he swirled his tongue against her nipple, and sucked, stealing the laughter off her lips. He kissed her belly, and her hip, and knelt, spreading her thighs, and hooking his arms under them. “Bell—” she started, and he nosed at her thigh, then looked at her. She nodded. “Yes. _Please_.” She threaded her fingers in his hair.  
  
She was already wet for him.  
  
He licked her slit, and found her clit with his tongue, stroking it. “Suck,” she panted.  
  
He grinned, and did what he was told. She arched into his mouth, and ended up with her back on the table, gasping his name while he suck her clit, and fucked her with his tongue. He snaked a hand up to palm her breast, and she pulled so hard on his hair that it hurt. He was impossibly hard by the time she came, and he lapped it up, and rose to his feet.  
  
She was lying on the table, naked, and looking at him with dark, hooded eyes, flushed and panting and fucked.  
  
“I love you,” he said.  
  
She smiled, and pushed up on her hand, reaching for his arm with the other. She pulled him in closer, and her kiss was slow, heated, and dirty. “Condom?” she breathed.  
  
He nodded. “My—pocket of my jeans,” he said, forcing himself away from her to get it.  
  
“You keep a condom in your jeans?”  
  
“I didn’t know when we’d have an opportunity, and I’d have to jump you!”  
  
She laughed, and when he looked at her, she’d scooted to the edge of the table. He swore under his breath when she spread her legs wider, and he fumbled to roll the condom on.  
  
He kissed her, and she pulled him closer. “I thought you were going to be on top.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” she said, breezy. “There’ll be time for that.”  
  
He pushed into her slowly, flattening a hand on the tabletop, and leaning over her, resting his forehead against hers. She was stretching to take him, warm and wet and so, so good.  
  
“I love you,” she panted, wrapping an arm around his neck.  
  
He kissed her. “I love you.” She titled her hips, taking him deeper, and he swore, sank into her completely. He pressed his face into her neck. “I love you so fucking much.”  
  
He started to move, and she giggled.  
  
“What?” He rolled his hips, and she gasped.  
 “I’m happy,” she said, and she kissed the top of his head, hugging his shoulders, and angling her hips, meeting his thrusts, and making _him_ breath in sharply, and swear.  
  
He had to kiss her on the mouth. “Yeah?” He wanted to hear it again.  
  
“I’m always happy with you, but this moment? Having you inside me finally? I—”  
  
He shifted to get both of his hands on the table, and fuck her properly, and she moaned, slipping a hand between them to touch her clit. “Fuck,” he breathed, watching himself disappearing into her, and her fingers on her clit, and he looked up, and found her gaze.  
  
She arched her back when she started to come, and he lost his rhythm, slamming into her.  
  
He collapsed into her arms after her came.  
  
“I love you so much,” she told him, “and I’m _so_ happy. I’ve never been this happy.”  
  
He kissed her, and pulled out. “Me, too.”  
  
Her smile in that moment was strangely shy, and it made his stomach warm, seeing.  
  
“Roast?” he said.  
  
She nodded. “Roast. Then I’m giving you that blowjob.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
They had the roast; he put on his boxers, and she put on her underwear, and his shirt, too, and they ate on the floor, drinking his cheap gross beer, and eating the roast off the pan.  
  
“I’ve got something for you,” he said, moving to his feet.  
  
Her eyes went bright. “Is it a puppy?”  
  
“Nope.” He went to his room to get it, and when he returned, she was starting to clear the dishes. He held the napkin behind his back. “It comes with a story,” he warned.  
  
She narrowed her eyes. “Okay.”  
  
“We, ah. We didn’t really get along when we first met.”  
  
“I recall,” she said. “I believe the word privilege was tossed around a lot.”  
  
“I was an asshole.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He nodded. “Then we became friends, really good friends, and we got through a lot of shit together, and you—you weren’t just one of my friends. You became one of the people I trusted most in the world, and that? Trust? It’s never really come easily into me.”  
  
She bit her lip.  
  
“Then you left. You went abroad, and just ignored everybody for _months_.”  
  
“Bell,” she started, apologetic.  
  
“Let me finish. I’ve had some people leave in my life, and I wasn’t able to forgive them. I never _will_ be able to forgive them. But it was different with you. From the start, it was different. Like I didn’t blame you for leaving, and when you came back, and you told me that you had to leave to know that you wanted to stay? I didn’t even care that you’d left. I was just so fucking happy that you were finally back, and that you were back to stay.”  
  
She smiled.  
  
“You spent the whole night at my apartment, talking. You had to go to your mom’s in the morning, and when I woke up you were gone, but you’d left at note for me, and that’s when I knew. I read it, and I knew that I was—so far gone. That I was in love with you.”  
  
“That was two years ago,” she said.  
  
He handed her the napkin, and she breathed in quickly, looking from it to him, and back.  
  
“ _Thanks for listening_ ,” she read, “ _and for the lasagna. You’re the best. Love, Clarke. P.S. I missed you the most. I promise, I’m never going anywhere again._ You kept this?”  
  
“You’re not going to mess us up, Clarke,” he told her. “You can’t.”  
  
She hugged him.  
  
They broke apart to clean up the kitchen a little, but they kind of half-assed it, and he was okay with that. They had more important things to do; there was sex in the bed, and a blowjob, and cuddling after, talking about nothing, going to sleep nose to nose, whispering in the dark.  
  
\---  
  
It was her idea to move in together when her lease was up in July. “I mean, why pay two rents when we could be paying one?” she said, and it was pretty sound logic to Bellamy.  
  
It was kind of a process to dissolve two apartments into one, though.  
  
“I should sell my mattress on Craig’s List,” Clarke said, making a list of things to do.  
  
“If we’re selling a mattress, let’s keep your fluffy cloud of a Queen,” Bellamy said, trying to sort through junk in his closest, and clear it out for her. “We'll toss my old, cheap, broken-ass Full.” He paused. “I think we can safely do that for everything we both own.”  
  
“Untrue.” She pointed her pen at him. “Your microwave.”  
  
He nodded. “She is a beauty.”  
  
Clarke snorted, and continued with her list, biting her lip while she wrote. He loved her.  
  
They recruited their friends to help with the move, which was a pretty easy pitch; they were literally asking for help to move her stuff _across the hall_ to Bellamy’s place.  
  
Snickers was excited, padding back and fourth between their apartments.  
  
“I’m going to trip over Almond Joy,” Raven said, “and somebody’s neck is going to break.”  
  
Snickers was big now, and had grown up a lot, too. She could sit when she was told, and stay when she felt like it. She had an array of tricks that she’d learned, took baths willingly when bribed with cheese, and chewed on her bone while her parents were busy, joining them in the bed after everything got quiet, and she could curl up at their feet.  
  
Bellamy considered the last to be the greatest of his various training victories.  
  
“You know you aren’t going to be able to train a squalling, interrupting _human_ baby to chew on a bone while you get it on,” Octavia said, gathering her hair into a ponytail.  
  
“I’m sure there’s an equivalent for humans,” Clarke said.  
  
“If we’re talking about Bellamy’s kid, I recommend a documentary,” Raven said, setting a box labeled _Clarke’s kitchen stuff number four_ in the kitchen of Bellamy’s apartment.  
  
“Or that show about Rome,” Clarke suggested.  
  
“He does love that show,” Raven said. “That’s the one with the guy from _Grey’s_ , right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Miller said.  
  
“He made you watch it, too?” Raven asked.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Bellamy said.  
  
Jasper heaved a box of dishes onto the counter. “What are we talking about?”  
  
“Bell’s fave show,” Octavia said, starting to unpack a box.  
  
“The one about the hoarders?”  
  
Clarke laughed. “His real favorite!” She looked at Bellamy, and leaned up to peck a kiss to his cheek in sympathy. “I love it, too,” she added.  
  
They fed their friends pizza in thanks for helping.  
  
Before they kicked out everyone, Clarke held a hoop, whistled, and made everyone cheer when Snickers jumped through the hoop, and was rewarded with applause and a treat.  
  
They took her for a walk after.  
  
They weren’t a block from the apartment when they passed a woman who stopped them to coo at Snickers. “She’s beautiful!” the woman said, smiling at Snickers. “May I?” She looked at Clarke. Clarke nodded, and the woman bent, laughed when Snickers licked her face in greeting. “What’s her name?”  
  
“Snickers,” Clarke said.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Snickers!” said the woman, and Clarke smiled. “She’s a sweetheart.”  
  
It was after the woman was on her way, and they were continuing down the block that Clarke sighed. “Everyone loves Snickers,” she said. “She’s really the best, isn’t she?”  
  
“Yes, Clarke,” he said, straight-faced. “Your dog is the best dog.”  
  
She knocked her shoulder into his.  
  
“I’m serious!” He grinned. “I know how to pick ‘em.”  
  
“Do you mean me, or Snickers?”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
Clarke shook her head, but she leaned up and into him slightly, and kissed his cheek. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for her,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “But in case I didn’t, thank you. I love her almost as much as I love you.” He glanced at her, and found her looking at him, bright-eyed and smiling.  
  
“I love you, too,” he said, because he could.  
  
It was impossible not to stop in the street in that moment, and kiss her. She touched his jaw, kissed him back, and Snickers tugged on her leash, whining at her stupid, kissing parents.  
  
**Fin.**

  
_But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing._  
_For the love you bring,_  
_Won't mean a thing,_  
_Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing._


End file.
